


The King is Dead; Long Live the King

by i_claudia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin finds Arthur on the battlements.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King is Dead; Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

> Written for such_heights as a donation with help_haiti and originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/47350.html). (18 January 2010)

Merlin finds Arthur on the battlements, looking out over Camelot in the thickening twilight as torches and candles begin to wink brightly from windows and doorways. There’s a fine, light rain falling but Arthur’s standing as straight and tall as ever, his feet planted shoulder-width apart and his hands locked behind his back. His shoulders are squared, but Merlin can see the rigid set to them, how tightly they’re held in place, as if Arthur will fall into a hundred pieces if he lets them loosen.

“Arthur.”

Arthur doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. Merlin steps forward cautiously into the rain, blinking against the drops that collect on his eyelashes. He could dispel the rain with a wave of his hand, make an invisible canopy over them, but looking at Arthur’s bowed head he knows it isn’t a good idea; the loss is still too raw for that kind of reminder right now.

“Arthur,” he says again, coming up to stand just behind Arthur’s right shoulder.

“It isn’t real yet,” Arthur says. His voice doesn’t hold the same hollowness it’s had since his vigil three nights ago, when he watched the candles burn lower and lower, listened to his father’s breath grow fainter, shallower, until it came no more, but it’s still distant. Arthur’s been far away since that night, and Merlin doesn’t know how to bring him back. “I know it should be, that I should be thinking of the kingdom and what has to be done to protect it but none of this...” He runs a hand over the red velvet he wears, ruined now from the damp. “It’s not real.”

Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder, tentative, but Arthur doesn’t shrug it off. “He tried to be a good king,” Arthur says. “I know he wasn’t – always.” He stumbles over the words, just enough to be noticeable. “But he tried to do what he thought was right. And...”

Arthur doesn’t finish the thought, but Merlin’s heard him say it before. _He was my father_. Merlin lets his fingers tighten on Arthur’s shoulder, barely noticeable. He knows in a way what it’s like to lose a father; he lived with the absence as a quiet, oddly uncomfortable idea for years before the sudden, gutting wrench of losing a real father, not one merely imagined in the dark on the nights his mother looked particularly worn. But Arthur doesn’t know that, and though Merlin might have an idea of Arthur’s grief it isn’t the same. Merlin’s grief is heavy because he knew his father too little; Arthur’s is overwhelming because he knew his too well.

“Come inside,” he says finally, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The rain’s beginning to come down harder now, the drops larger, beginning to soak through Merlin’s new dress shirt until it’s sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Arthur nods slightly and allows Merlin to draw him into the doorway, out of the rain, and Merlin grabs the blanket he’d left there, wrapping it around Arthur’s shoulders.

“You’ll make him proud,” Merlin tells Arthur softly, swiping the pad of his thumb along Arthur’s cheekbone, smearing the dampness on his face. Arthur leans their foreheads together and sighs, and Merlin runs his hand down to Arthur’s chest to link his fingers with Arthur’s where they’re wrapped around the edges of the blanket.

Arthur says nothing, just tightens his fingers around Merlin’s. _Are you sure?_

“Of course I am,” Merlin says, his voice firm, and kisses the rain from Arthur’s lips.


End file.
